


I'm a Fool to Want You

by AshCommaMan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And Bucky is Mad at Him For It, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Protective Bucky Barnes, Short, Short One Shot, Steve Fights a Lot, queer is used a couple of times, steve is 95 lbs of 'fight me'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshCommaMan/pseuds/AshCommaMan
Summary: In which Steve gets into a fight and Bucky has to clean him up.Done by request on tumblr. If you've got a request, feel free to submit one! the-voice-of-night-vale.tumblr.com





	I'm a Fool to Want You

“Come on, Buck!” Steve protested, throwing his arms up.

His friend ignored him, just climbing the rest of the stairs to their tiny two-bedroom apartment with the drafty windows and the squeaky door hinges.

“It wasn’t like I got seriously hurt, or anything,” he continued as Bucky took out the key and wordlessly unlocked the door.

It was a hot summer day in Brooklyn, the type of day that saw guys–guys much more fit, much more masculine, than Steve–walking around without a shirt on; the type of day where you could fry an egg on the sidewalk; the type of day where it was impossible to stay in their poorly-insulated apartment–which was practically a pressure cooker at this point–; and it was the type of day that was so hot that Steve was bound to get into trouble.

“You’ve got a black eye, and a busted lip, Steve,” Bucky said. They were the first words he had spoken since he had discovered him, cornered in an alley, surrounded by two guys twice his size. His voice was low, and cleverly hidden beneath it was the anger Steve’s foolishness had stoked. That tone always made Steve guilty.

Pausing for a minute as Bucky went into their apartment, Steve bit the inside of his mouth. He wished Bucky didn’t feel like he needed protecting all the time. He wasn’t a kid, dammit, and he was perfectly capable of standing up to bullies by himself.

Kicking at a can laying abandoned on the cement landing, Steve followed his friend inside and shut the door behind him.

The apartment was still hot, but since the sun had moved past their window and was making its way down the horizon, it had cooled significantly.

Bucky turned on the lamp and motioned for Steve to follow. Feeling like a chastised kindergartner, he walked behind him to the bathroom.

Bucky was running a rag under the water from the sink, and as Steve came in to the tiny, brightly lit bathroom, his friend pointed to the toilet. “Sit,” he ordered, and Steve obeyed. He knew better at this point than to argue.

Sitting himself on the edge of the bathtub, Bucky took the rag and dabbed gently at Steve’s still-bleeding lip. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stupid all the time, punk,” he said quietly. “You know you can’t get into shit all the time. One of these days something’ll happen and I won’t be around to save you.”

"But I don’t need to be saved,” Steve objected, pushing Bucky’s hand away. God he hated it when Bucky acted like his mom.

He leveled a look at him, and Steve’s shoulders slumped. “Look,” Bucky said, “I know you’re ninety-five pounds of ‘fight me,’ but you’re still ninety-five pounds. You can’t go around trying to stand up to every jerk who looks at you funny.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t speak, as Bucky had resumed his dabbing ritual.

“I don’t like bein’ your mom, Stevie. But when you act like a kid I gotta babysit you.” He leaned back, admiring his work at cleaning up the blood. “Let me get you an icepack.” He stood, leaving Steve there sitting on the toilet.

Steve leaned back against the toilet, sighing and looking up at the ceiling. His bruised eye had swollen almost completely shut, and he touched it tenderly with his fingers.

Bucky hadn’t even asked why Steve had gotten into that fight, and when he had tried to explain it, Bucky had cut him off. Maybe he’d understand if he knew.

Bucky returned with a frozen bag of vegetables and handed it to him, who dejectedly put it against the ugly bloomer on his left eye.

“What was it this time?” he asked as he returned to his seat. Apparently hehad been waiting to find out Steve’s reasoning until he felt like knowing.

“The assholes called me queer,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to let them get away with it.”

Bucky gave him another look, and Steve felt childish. Of course Steve was queer, and he had started to suspect that Bucky knew–though the two had never talked about it–but he didn’t like it when guys took one look at him, his small frame, tiny arms, and all-but emaciated chest, and decided that that was what made him queer. It didn’t sit right with him, and he wasn’t going to let guys just do that–to him or anybody else.

“What am I gonna do with you?” was all Bucky said. “Come on, get up.” He led Steve out of the bathroom and to the living room, which was beginning to darken with the silky ink of night. He turned on the radio and sat on the couch. Steve sat beside him, still holding the icepack to his face.

“Listen, Steve, you have to learn to pick your battles.”

“I don’t like bullies,” he retorted, shooting a glare over at Bucky. It was his usual excuse, but he knew that Bucky wouldn’t have any of it.

“I know you don’t,” his friend said, his voice calm and even. “But getting into fights you can’t win isn’t going to do anything but get you hurt.”

“At least I’d be standing up to them,” Steve muttered, putting the icepack down and crossing his arms. He stared at the floor, the carpeting that was musty and dirty, feeling like the whole world was a against him right then.

He felt Bucky move closer and he looked over at him. He had come from the other side of the couch to sit right beside Steve, moving the icepack aside. He was facing him, one leg crossed and the other leaning off the edge of the couch.

Steve, confused, started asking, “Buck what are you doing–” but he couldn’t get it all out because Bucky had reached forward and taken his face in his hand.

The touch was gentle, like Steve was made of glass or something, like if Bucky wasn’t gentle, he would shatter.

Steve started stuttering, trying and failing to start another sentence as he stared, eyes like saucers, up at his best friend.

Bucky interrupted him again, his blue eyes penetrating into Steve’s, though they were soft, and they held a great amount of gentleness. “You really ought to learn when to shut up, punk,” he whispered, and it felt as though those words had taken all the air out of Steve’s lungs.

Before Steve could open his mouth again, Bucky’s lips were on his, his other arm on Steve’s hip, gently trying to persuade him to change his position so it wouldn’t be so awkward.

Steve tried to pull away, too shocked to reciprocate the kiss, but his friend held him firmly there in it, even as his lips themselves were gentle and sweet.

Abandoning his confusion, Steve moved where Bucky was encouraging, and slowly wrapped his tiny stick arms around Bucky’s neck, the radio playing and the noise of Brooklyn’s night life filtering in through the open window.

The moment was perfect, and Steve felt swaddled in it.

Steve couldn’t help but think that his first kiss–the first kiss that wasn’t with some kid on the playground back when he was little, or a tiny peck from the girl he had managed to convince to go out with him–ought to be like this, though in all his years of dreaming he wouldn’t have ever thought so.

Eventually, like all kisses, theirs had to end. Bucky pulled away first, his hands coming away from Steve’s hip and face. Steve himself, though, kept his eyes shut, not wanting to open them and be back in reality. Finally he did, though, because he could feel Bucky watching him.

“Buck,” Steve said, his voice faint and weak. He stopped there, though, unsure how to continue that.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I was waiting for a good time to tell you.”

All this time, Bucky had been queer too? Steve could barely believe it. He had always oozed masculinity, had always seemed like such a ladies’ man.

So maybe that meant he wasn’t crazy for liking men and women. Or, at the very least, he and Bucky were crazy together, which was much better than being crazy alone.

“So… what does this mean?”

Bucky gave him a quizzical, vaguely amused look. “What do you mean, what does this mean?”

“You didn’t just kiss me for no reason, did you?”

“Oh,” he said. He laughed slightly. “I mean, I’d like to make it a more regular occurrence, if that’s what you’re saying.”

Steve felt a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Yeah,” he said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It is.”

Bucky stood up, holding out his hand. “Alright, tough guy, let’s go to bed.”  
Steve tentatively–as if the hand might bite him–took it, and Bucky led him to his bedroom. He took his shirt off and, since it was still so warm, didn’t bother to put a pair of pajamas on–much to Steve’s discomfort–and got in bed.

Seeing Steve just standing in the middle of the room, he looked up at him. “Well come on,” he said. Steve, scratching his arm for a moment awkwardly, went over and laid down. Bucky wrapped his arms around him, pulling his little body close up against his. They had slept together before, but never like this, never with anything romantic. Steve decided that he didn’t dislike the closeness with this new context.

“Bucky?” Steve asked after a long moment of silence.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, and Steve could feel its vibration against his cheek.

“You’re a punk.

"I know, Stevie.”


End file.
